Chapter Text
“Don’t you dare stop.”
The words were a raw, breathless plea, swallowed by the humid air of the practice room. Mingi’s fingers dug into the wooden floor, knuckles white, as Yeosang’s hands on his hips stilled for a single, torturous heartbeat.
A low, rough chuckle vibrated against the damp skin of Mingi’s back. “Who’s stopping, princess? Just admiring the view.”
It hadn’t started as anything more than cooling down. The eight of them had pushed hard that afternoon, bodies slick with sweat, muscles burning. One by one, the others had filtered out for showers or food, leaving behind the familiar, comfortable silence of shared exhaustion. Mingi had stayed behind, stretching his long legs out, trying to ease the ache in his thighs. Yeosang had lingered too, quietly sipping water by the mirrored wall.
It was Mingi who broke the quiet, flopping onto his back with a groan that was more performance than pain. “I’m deceased. Officially.”
Yeosang’s gaze, usually so placid, had sharpened. He walked over, his shadow falling across Mingi’s sprawled form. “You’re dramatic.” He toed Mingi’s side gently. “Roll over. I’ll help.”
A simple offer. Commonplace in their world of constant physical contact. Mingi complied, turning onto his stomach, the cool floor a relief against his heated skin. Yeosang’s hands landed on his shoulders, kneading with a practiced, firm pressure that made Mingi melt into the floorboards. For a few minutes, it was just that—the release of tension, the quiet grate of breath.
But then Yeosang’s hands drifted lower, past the waistband of Mingi’s sweats. His thumbs pressed into the knots along Mingi’s spine, and a different kind of shiver traveled through him. A full-body, electric current. He couldn’t suppress the soft sound that escaped his throat.
Yeosang’s hands paused. “That’s not your sore muscle.”
Mingi turned his head, cheek pressed to the floor, meeting Yeosang’s knowing eyes. He didn’t deny it. He just held the look, his own breathing turning shallow. An invitation. Or maybe a silent dare.
That’s when it shifted. Yeosang’s touch changed. It was no longer therapeutic; it was possessive. His palms slid down, over the swell of Mingi’s ass, still covered by thin cotton. A slow, thorough exploration. Mingi pushed his hips back, a wordless, desperate answer. Yes. More.
Yeosang hooked his fingers into the waistband. “Lift.”
Mingi did, obeying the quiet command without thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. The sweats were tugged down past his knees, the air cool against his exposed skin. Yeosang made a gravely sound, low in his throat. His hand came down, not in a slap, but in a firm, open-palmed caress that made Mingi jolt. “So eager for me already, princess?”
The nickname, laced with such dark affection, sent a fresh wave of heat through Mingi. He buried his face in his folded arms, a meek gesture that was completely betrayed by the way he arched his back, presenting himself. Yeosang didn’t need another invitation.
*
Now, here they were. Mingi on his hands and knees, stripped bare, Yeosang fully clothed behind him, having just paused to drink in the sight. The pause was agony. Mingi could feel the cool air teasing where he was exposed. He could feel the slickness already gathering at the tip of his cock, a desperate, physical reaction he had no hope of controlling.
“Yeosangie… please.”
“Since you asked so nicely.” Yeosang’s voice was a murmur, but it carried in the empty space. He leaned forward, his body covering Mingi’s, and Mingi felt the hard, unmistakable length of him press against his cleft, still trapped behind fabric. Yeosang rocked forward, just once, a filthy, dry grind that made Mingi cry out. “Look at you. Soaked just from this.”
One of Yeosang’s hands left his hip. Mingi heard the rasp of a zipper, the rustle of clothing being pushed aside. His entire world narrowed to the space behind him, waiting, aching. Yeosang’s fingers returned, but not where Mingi expected. They slid between his thighs, from behind, brushing through the overwhelming wetness there before moving upward, circling his entrance, spreading the slickness he found.
Mingi trembled, a whimper breaking free. The touch was clinical and incendiary all at once. Yeosang coated himself with what his fingers gathered, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. Then, the blunt, broad head of him was there, pressing, not entering. Just that immense, hot pressure.
“Ready?” Yeosang breathed the word against the shell of Mingi’s ear.
Mingi could only nod, frantic, pushing back.
Yeosang didn’t ease in. He pushed forward with a steady, relentless pressure that stole the air from Mingi’s lungs. It was a lot—Yeosang was a lot, thick and unforgiving—and the stretch was immediate, breathtaking. Mingi’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick floor. He was filled, stretched, and claimed in one relentless glide until Yeosang’s hips met the backs of his thighs, buried to the hilt.
For a moment, neither moved. Yeosang let him adjust, his own breathing harsh in Mingi’s ear. Mingi felt impossibly full, every nerve screaming. The ache was a sweet, deep burn, a sensation so intense it blurred his vision.
“God,” Mingi finally gasped, the word shattered the tension.
Yeosang pulled back, almost all the way out, and Mingi felt the loss like a wound. But before he could protest, Yeosang drove back in, harder, setting a punishing rhythm from the first thrust. There was no gentle warm-up. This was a pure need.
Each snap of Yeosang’s hips sent a jolt through Mingi, forcing ragged, punched-out sounds from him with every impact. The wet, slapping sound of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their harsh breaths. Yeosang’s grip on his hips was iron, sure to leave bruises Mingi would trace later with a secret thrill.
“My pretty princess,” Yeosang grunted, his voice strained with effort. “Taking me so well. Made for this.”
The words, filthy and adored, pushed Mingi higher. He pushed back, meeting each thrust, wanting to be taken deeper, harder. The friction was everywhere—inside, where Yeosang stroked over that spot that made sparks burst behind his eyelids, and outside, where his own neglected length hung heavy and leaking, swaying with the force of their joining.
Yeosang shifted his angle, leaning over him more, and the new depth made Mingi see white. A broken, continuous moan tore from his throat. He was close, so close, the coil in his gut winding to a breaking point with terrifying speed.
“Yeosang… I’m gonna…”
“Not yet.” Yeosang’s hand snaked around his waist, fingers wrapping around Mingi, stroking him in time with his brutal thrusts. It was too much, the dual sensation of being filled and touched sending Mingi spiraling.
His orgasm ripped through him without warning, violent and all-consuming. His back bowed, a strangled cry ripped from his throat as he spilled over Yeosang’s fist and onto the floor beneath him, pulses of pure, electric pleasure short-circuiting his thoughts. The tight, fluttering clench of his body around Yeosang was the final trigger.
With a final groan, Yeosang buried himself deep and stilled, his own release pumping into Mingi in hot, rhythmic waves. Mingi felt every pulse.
They collapsed together in a heap of trembling limbs and spent breath, Yeosang’s weight a welcome anchor. The room smelled of sex and sweat and them now. Mingi’s cheek was back on the floor, his body humming, utterly ruined.
Yeosang nuzzled into the damp hair at his nape, his voice a soft, satiated rumble. “Messy princess.”
For a long moment, they just breathed. The air was thick, hazy. Mingi’s body felt liquid, boneless, a pleasant weight holding him to the floor. Yeosang’s chest rose and fell against his back, a steady rhythm that slowly synced with his own heartbeat.
He felt Yeosang soften a little inside him, but the man made no move to pull away. Instead, his hands, which had been gripping Mingi’s hips, smoothed over the skin, tracing the outlines of what would surely become dark bruises. Possessive marks. Mingi shivered at the touch, a fresh, low spark kindling in his spent belly.
“Not done with you,” Yeosang murmured, his voice rough-edged and sleep-thick. It wasn’t a question.
A weak, breathy laugh escaped Mingi. “You’re insane.” But he pressed back, a subtle shift that made Yeosang hum in approval.
“Just getting started, princess.” Yeosang’s arms slid under him, one hooking around his chest, the other under his thigh. “Up you go.”
Before Mingi could process the command, Yeosang was rolling him. The world tilted—the mirrored wall, the ceiling lights, Yeosang’s focused face swimming above him. His back hit the floor, a soft thud that jolted through his sensitive body. He was sprawled out, completely exposed, legs falling open as Yeosang settled between them.
The cool air on his front was a shock. He was a mess, slick and spent, and the way Yeosang’s eyes raked over him, dark and hungry all over again, made heat flood his cheeks. He tried to curl in on himself, a feeble instinct.
Yeosang caught his knees, hands firm. “None of that.” He pushed Mingi’s legs up, bending him effortlessly until his calves were hooked over Yeosang’s shoulders. The position was deep, vulnerable, folding Mingi almost in half. A gasp punched out of him—the stretch in his hamstrings was sharp, immediate, a delicious ache that complemented the lingering, throbbing fullness from before.
Yeosang leaned over him, bracing his hands on the floor by Mingi’s head. From here, Mingi could see every detail: the faint sheen of sweat on Yeosang’s temple, the intense focus in his gaze, the way his lower lip was caught between his teeth. He was still mostly dressed, his pants open, shirt rumpled. The contrast was dizzying. Mingi, completely wrecked and naked; Yeosang, controlled, clothed, in charge.
“Look at you,” Yeosang said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He rocked his hips forward, the hard length of him, already firming again, sliding through the wetness between Mingi’s thighs. The friction was maddening, a teasing promise. “Open. Waiting. You look like you were made just to be fucked.”
Mingi’s head fell back, a moan trapped in his throat. He couldn’t argue. He felt made for it, especially like this, folded up and offered. His own body was already betraying him, a fresh sheen of dampness spreading across his tip when Yeosang rubbed against him. The evidence was undeniable.
Yeosang saw it. A smirk touched his lips. He reached down between them, his fingers brushing through the slick heat, gathering it. Mingi jerked at the touch, oversensitive. Yeosang’s fingers circled his entrance, pressing in, not with one finger, but with two, scissoring gently. The stretch was familiar now, welcome, and Mingi’s hips lifted off the floor, seeking more.
“So greedy,” Yeosang chided, but his breathing was coming faster. He withdrew his fingers, coating himself thoroughly a second time. The head of him nudged at Mingi, a blunt, hot pressure that made Mingi’s breath stutter.
This time, Yeosang didn’t ask if he was ready. He just pushed in.
The angle was different. Deeper. So much deeper. Mingi’s eyes flew open, his back arching off the floor as Yeosang filled him in one slow, inexorable slide. The stretch burned, a sweet, full ache that stole the air from his lungs. Yeosang bottomed out, his hips flush against Mingi’s ass, and held there, buried to the root.
“Fuck,” Mingi choked out. His legs tightened around Yeosang’s shoulders. Every nerve was alight, focused on the point where their bodies joined. He was so full he felt split open, reshaped.
Yeosang’s composure cracked. A ragged groan tore from him as he began to move. Not the frantic pace from before, but something slower, more concentrated. Each thrust was a deep, rolling push that dragged against every sensitive inch inside Mingi. The position left him no leverage, no way to move except to take it, and that surrender, that total loss of control, sent a thrill through him that was almost as potent as the physical sensation.
Yeosang leaned down, his forehead touching Mingi’s. Their breath mingled, hot and quick. “You feel… incredible like this,” Yeosang gritted out, his hips pistoning in a steady, devastating rhythm. “Wrapped around me. So tight. So perfect.”
Mingi could only gasp, his hands flailing before finding purchase on Yeosang’s biceps, gripping the rumpled fabric of his shirt. The new angle hit a spot inside him that hadn’t been touched before, a bright, shocking point of pleasure that made stars burst behind his eyelids with every inward stroke. A high, thin whine escaped him, constant, unbidden.
“That’s it,” Yeosang encouraged, his voice a low, strained vibration against Mingi’s lips. “Let me hear you. Let me feel you fall apart.”
He picked up the pace, the slow rolls turning into harder, sharper drives. The wet, rhythmic sound of their joining filled the room again. Mingi was dissolving, the world narrowing to the slap of skin, the grunt of Yeosang’s effort, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly possessed. The coil in his gut, which had never fully unwound, wound tighter, hotter, faster.
He was leaking again, a constant, shameful trickle that made every slide smoother, wetter. Yeosang’s thrusts grew erratic, his control fraying. One of his hands left the floor, gripping Mingi’s thigh where it hooked over his shoulder, holding him open, anchored.
“Yeosang, I… I can’t…” Mingi babbled, the peak rushing at him like a train.
“You can,” Yeosang snarled, his hips snapping forward. “You will. Cum for me, princess. Now.”
The command shattered the last of Mingi’s restraint. His orgasm tore through him, a silent, seizing wave that locked his body rigid. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, radiated out from his core, wringing a choked, broken sound from his throat. He felt the hot seed spill against his own stomach, another mess, but the feeling was secondary to the intense, fluttering clench inside.
Yeosang swore and drove in one last, punishing time. He buried himself deep and stilled, his own release flooding Mingi with a heat that seemed to brand him from the inside. Mingi felt every pulse, knowing that they both wished it could take, could really show Mingi just what the group meant when they called him princess.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged, desperate breathing. Yeosang’s arms trembled where he held himself up. Slowly, gently, he let Mingi’s legs slide from his shoulders, lowering them to the floor. They fell bonelessly to the sides. Yeosang collapsed on top of him, his full weight a heavy, comforting blanket.
Mingi’s senses began to return in pieces. The smell of them. The chill of the floor seeping into his overheated skin. The throbbing, well-used ache between his legs. Yeosang’s heartbeat, a frantic drum against his own chest.
Yeosang turned his head, his lips brushing Mingi’s ear. His voice was shot, wrecked. “Told you. I wasn't done.”
Time stretched, elastic and syrupy. Mingi floated in the pleasant, heavy aftermath, the floor cool against his back, Yeosang’s weight a solid, grounding warmth. He could feel the slow, sticky trickle of proof on his stomach, the deeper, internal warmth where Yeosang still rested inside him, softening but present. A claim that lingered.
Yeosang shifted first, a slow, reluctant movement. He braced a hand on the floor beside Mingi’s head, pushing himself up. The separation was a visceral, physical loss. Mingi winced, a full-body ache making itself known as Yeosang withdrew completely. The air felt cool, too empty, where he’d been.
“Easy, princess,” Yeosang murmured, his voice still rough. He looked down at Mingi, his gaze tracking the mess on Mingi’s stomach, the flushed, sweat-sheened skin, the way Mingi’s long legs were still splayed open. A possessive satisfaction flickered in his eyes. He ran a thumb through the wetness on Mingi’s belly, then brought it to his own mouth, cleaning it with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue. The action was so blunt, so unashamed, it sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to Mingi’s spent cock.
God, he’s not even close to done, Mingi thought, dazed.
But Yeosang just sighed, a contented sound, and pushed himself to his feet. He moved with a loose-limbed grace, tucking himself back into his pants, zipping up. The mundane act was surreal after the intensity of the last hour. He held a hand down to Mingi. “C’mon. Can’t stay here all night.”
Mingi stared at the offered hand. His own felt like lead. Every muscle protested as he reached up, letting Yeosang haul him upright. The world tilted, his legs shaky. He would have stumbled if Yeosang hadn’t caught him, an arm slipping around his waist, pulling him close. Mingi leaned into the support, his forehead resting against Yeosang’s shoulder.
“Walk?” Yeosang asked, his breath stirring Mingi’s hair.
Mingi nodded against him, not trusting his voice. They moved as one awkward, sticky unit toward the corner of the room where their discarded practice bags and water bottles lay. Yeosang grabbed a half-empty bottle, uncapped it, and poured a stream of cool water onto a clean hand towel he’d fished from his bag.
“Here.” He turned Mingi gently, his hands firm. The towel was damp, not wet, and Yeosang started cleaning him with a startling tenderness. He wiped the mess from Mingi’s stomach, the coarse fabric dragging softly over sensitive skin. He moved lower, between Mingi’s thighs, dabbing carefully at the slick, oversensitive flesh. Mingi shuddered, his fingers curling into the fabric of Yeosang’s shirt. It was intimate in a different way—caretaking, almost clinical, but it made his breath catch all the same.
“You’re a mess,” Yeosang said quietly, but there was no malice in it. It was a statement of fact, laced with a dark pride.
“Whose fault is that?” Mingi managed, his voice a hoarse croak.
Yeosang’s lips quirked. “Mine. And I’ll take full credit.” He finished, tossing the soiled towel toward his bag. He then picked up Mingi’s discarded clothing. “Arms up.”
Like a child, Mingi lifted his arms, letting Yeosang guide the soft fabric over his head and down his body. The cotton felt strange against his skin, a barrier he didn’t really want. Yeosang knelt, helping him step into the pants, pulling them up over his hips. Being dressed by him, after being so thoroughly undressed, felt like a different kind of surrender.
Once Mingi was covered, Yeosang grabbed his own hoodie, pulling it on over his rumpled shirt. He shouldered both their bags, then turned back to Mingi. He cupped Mingi’s jaw, his thumb stroking over Mingi’s bottom lip. “Can you walk?”
Mingi nodded again. “Yeah. Just… slow.”
*
The hallway outside the practice room was dark, silent. The company building felt like a ghost ship at this hour. Their footsteps were soft echoes on the polished floor. Mingi walked carefully, the pleasant, deep ache between his legs a constant, throbbing reminder with every step. He was hyper-aware of Yeosang beside him, a solid, quiet presence.
They didn’t speak in the elevator. The fluorescent lights were too bright, exposing everything. Mingi caught their reflection in the metal doors—his hair a mess, his lips swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded. Yeosang looked perfectly put together, save for the faint flush high on his cheeks and a certain relaxed set to his shoulders. The contrast was maddening.
The night air outside was a shock, crisp and cool. It helped clear the fog in Mingi’s head a little. They walked the familiar path toward the dorms, close but not touching. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… full of unspoken words.
As they reached the dimly lit alley that served as a shortcut, Yeosang stopped. He dropped the bags against the brick wall with a soft thud and turned to Mingi. In the shadows, his eyes were dark pools.
“Come here,” he said, his voice low.
Mingi went, drawn like a magnet. Yeosang pulled him into the deeper shadow of a doorway, out of sight from the street. His hands came up to frame Mingi’s face, and he kissed him.
It was nothing like the frantic, desperate clash of teeth and tongue from the practice room. This was slow. Deep. A claim of a different sort. Yeosang’s mouth moved over his with a languid intensity, tasting, exploring. Mingi melted into it, his hands coming up to clutch at Yeosang’s hoodie. A soft, helpless sound vibrated in his throat.
Yeosang’s hands slid down, over Mingi’s shoulders, down his back, settling on his ass. He squeezed, pulling their hips flush together. Mingi could feel him, hard again already, through the layers of their clothes. The friction was dulled by fabric, but the intent was crystal clear.
“Thought you were done,” Mingi whispered against his lips, his own body responding, warmth pooling low in his belly.
Yeosang broke the kiss, his forehead resting against Mingi’s. His breathing was a little uneven. “Mhmm. So that suddenly means I can't kiss you more?” Mingi let out a soft laugh, reaching back into the kiss himself.
“See?” Yeosang murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of his ass, applying just the right pressure. “You’re not done either, princess. You’re still mine.”